


things half remembered

by galaxyeyedrops



Category: Kamen Rider Build
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 18:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12754227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyeyedrops/pseuds/galaxyeyedrops
Summary: For better or for worse, Kiryu Sento is Katsuragi Takumi.





	things half remembered

**Author's Note:**

> today we frick page breaks (im sorry)

Banjou does not yell, does not scream. He is quiet during the revelation, nothing more than a gasp escaping his throat.

And when it's over, Blood Stalk long gone, leaving you two on the ground powerless, he slowly lifts himself back up.

He does not complain, does not groan as his skin stretches and shifts over brand new bruises. He stands, a slight hunch to his shoulders and with one step after the other, he makes his way home.

He does not look at you. He does not turn back.

 

* * *

 

Things get more and more out of control by the day. The research grants that you were so excited about turn into government contracts, turn into government control.

Your agenda is decided, your application for the Nebula gas decided.

Your home address, your mother's daily routine, well documented.

They tell you that you're famous beyond measure, whisper in your ear how they need you; how much of a difference you're making.

You named your company Faust early on, despite knowing little about western literature, even less about the historical figure. _It sounded cool,_ the only explanation you could conjure up at the time. Only now do you realize how appropriate it is.

 

* * *

 

The world keeps on turning.

Things might seem overwhelming, be debilitating, but society does not slow down for one man. People continue to be snatched up for experiments; Smash attacks following shortly after.

It would be easy to wallow in your misery and leave everything up to Banjou. He's more than strong enough to take them on. It would be so easy to run away, to plug up your ears and cover your eyes.

But that's not the type of man you want Kiryu Sento to be. Not the type of man you will ever accept.

 

* * *

 

Nebula gas is a product with endless applications, endless possibilities.

It offers a way to not only bind DNA to a target (in a completely reversible process at that) but also to bind inorganic material to a target and take advantage of its properties.

The concept of a "tank" takes as well as the one of a "rabbit", with little chance of a properly prepared body rejecting it.

Nebula gas, you see, deals with far more than DNA. It encompasses memories, concepts, and ideas.

You can develop separate strains with the concept of comics, the idea of being a ninja. All that's limited is the imagination.

 

* * *

 

You sleep at a manga café now. The hourly rate is low enough to catch a couple of hours before you go back to work.

Its far from ideal. The one you frequent does not allow guests to reserve rooms, does not hold on to personal belongings.

Everything you bring, goes with you. Be it work papers or a pair of sweats to sleep in.

The recliner they provide isn't too bad, and as you fall asleep to the sound of cursing and simulated gunfire, you convince yourself that this is okay.

 

* * *

 

Sleep does not come easy.

You toss and turn throughout the night, scattering pillows and wrinkling bed sheets. You wake up multiple times; two forty-six, three o' two, three thirty-one, four fifteen, over and over again.

The sleeping pills knock you out for longer than you can afford. The aromatherapy sachet under your pillow does nothing.

You use this time to think–it's what you're best at. It's all you're good for.

And sooner or later, you come to the same conclusion as your father. For your mother to live on peacefully, you have to die.

It hurts, it stings, but it's the truth. And so, under the government's watchful eyes, you begin to devise a plan.

 

* * *

 

Misora waits outside the manga café.

She's dressed ridiculously today, with a brightly colored wig and sailor fuku, playing at being some fictional high schooler.

Her face is set in a frown, eyes sharp, peeking out from under too long bangs.

"We need to talk," she says. You lead her into the café and reserve another booth; she follows you in without a word.

Inside, you offer her the chair, speak a little softer hoping she follows suit. It wouldn't be very helpful for one of her fans to recognize her now.

"Come home," she says, ignoring all of your manufactured pleasantries. "It's not the same without you."

You want to cry. You want to scream. You want to shake this brave caring _stupid girl_ for inviting her kidnapper, the bogeyman that still haunts her nightmares, into her home.

You do none of the above.

 

* * *

 

The first test is a failure.

The memories take but little else does. The subject retains his previous level of intelligence, his previously stable hazard level turn into a constantly fluctuating mess.

You build another driver, cycle through multiple bottles and configurations until you find what can keep him stable.

He isn't you, can't be you, doesn't have the skills required to be your successor.

But he wants to be. He needs you for more than monitoring your vitals, and for that, he's useful.

 

* * *

 

Blood Stalk knows you better than you know yourself.

He taunts and teases, dropping personal information like crumbs. Tantalizing you with the promise of truth before withdrawing, a smile no doubt etched on the face below the mask.

 

* * *

 

Blood Stalk is smiling underneath his mask.

You made plans, backup plans, and backup plans for those if you failed again, if once again your memories didn't take.

Satou Taro lies on the carpet, his own blood pooling beneath him. His body is still warm; vital signs long left, rigor mortis settling in its place.

"So," Blood Stalk says, now turning towards you. "What are you going to do, _Doctor_?"

* * *

 

Science is a slow march, mankind pulling themselves forward, inch by inch.

And yet—

 

* * *

 

And yet…

Yes, you know. You know. You _know_.

 

* * *

 

You grow tired of knowing.

 

* * *

 

Your face is different and so is Satou Taro's. It's a simple switch, your body types were similar enough, it's unlikely that someone will notice.

You would laugh, shake of the fear, the uncertainty, the knowledge that it's your fault a man is dead but Blood Stalk is not that cruel, is not that kind.

He knocks you out moments after the deed is done.

You wake, surrounded by fluid, a mask on your face. Night Rouge watches on, simultaneously sinister and oblivious.

Your struggles are weak, pathetic at best, but you like the idea that you fought to the end. Within minutes, you lose even that.

 

* * *

 

Banjou lays a cool cloth on your forehead, a glass of water by your bedside. Close up, you can see the emotions war across his face, his newfound heroism shuffling them into place.

He startles when you speak, flinching back and clutching his chest, which despite the situation, is still comical.

"I'm going to fight," you tell him between one laugh and the next.

A flicker of hesitation. And then he smiles back.

 

* * *

 

Your mother waits, fondness in her gaze and love in her smile.

A rolled omelette sits on the the table. The plate is slightly cracked, sunlight glinting off each winding crevice. The silverware is cloudy, each reflection a distortion.

You cut into the omelette with a fork, splitting it into near even halves.

Together, you both take a bite.

**Author's Note:**

> please kudos/comment if you liked! also feel free to hmu on twitter @deskbot00


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